


call it magic, call it true

by hotelsweet



Category: Superstore (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 11:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelsweet/pseuds/hotelsweet
Summary: in the early hours of the morning, she's waking up in his arms.





	call it magic, call it true

Amy has been asleep for years.

That’s what it feels like, anyway. It’s the kind of arousal where you’re not sure when you fell asleep, where you are, or if you have somewhere to be. It doesn’t matter; you’re so rested everything seems to move in slow-motion, as noises and feelings and tastes gradually come back piece by piece.

She’s warm, in just the right way- snuggled in up to her neck, legs intertwined with blanket and mattress and clothing. It doesn’t quite feel like her bed. No, more like a cocoon, or perhaps like she’s been swaddled. Either way, it’s working wonders.

Her first deep breath takes her chest by surprise, bringing her a little bit closer to waking up. Her chest heaves against the blankets around her.

It’s when somebody, _something_ , sighs in just the same way, that she realises something isn’t quite right.

Her eyes flicker open, one by one, slowly- to her surprise, there’s far less light here than she’d anticipated. There’s a soft blue glow coming through the window, which must mean it’s very early in the morning. Barely day.

Underneath her, there’s a soft, content hum, vibrating lightly from his chest.

_It’s him, isn’t it?_

This is the question that flies through her brain when the last twelve hours come flooding back.

It had been a truly, truly awful shift. It wasn’t supposed to be- A Friday, and one where Emma was staying with a friend, was meant to be her perfect night in. But then there were loud-mouthed morons, and Dina on the warpath, and the stupid fact that she hadn’t spoken to her friend, properly, in weeks. Nobody was happy and for the first time in a while, coming home didn’t make her feel any better

And now he’s under her, fast asleep, an arm secure and certain around her waist to the small of her back.

For the first time potentially ever, she’s seeing his hair at its messiest, dark and scruffy and impossibly sweet. She daren’t move, for fear he’ll wake up and catch her staring. As if falling asleep on her couch together wasn’t enough- him catching her watching him sleep would be an entirely new level. 

She’d invited him round when the glass of wine and Freddie Prinz Jr. movie wasn’t cheering her up. He’d not asked twice. Then, as easy as that, he was there, laughing and letting her tease him and making up drinking games for the movie.

Then there wasn’t the movie. There wasn’t talking or laughing or arguing. There were his lips on her neck, and her fingers in his hair, and her heart pounding in her chest, and pulling him so close she could have sworn just _one_ centimetre more and she’d break his bones. Heat like she'd never known, every centimeter of her skin electric. 

It was the most passionate experience she’s ever encountered; it wasn’t just him turning her on, it was _him_ turning her on, and in a matter of minutes they’d had to slow themselves down, furiously grabbing at eachother until technicalities flew out of the window. Moving slower was just painful bliss, every cell in her body begging for him, until she was too. She’s never had anything like it.

“Morning.”

His voice is deliciously sleepy, a soft croak followed by a long yawn.

“Hi,” she replies, so quietly she’s surprised she makes any sound at all.

“What time is it?”

“Early,” she admits, raising her head slightly to try and look around. “What?”

She doesn’t mean for it to sound so disparaging, but he’s looking at her in a way she’s never seen anyone look at her- and she _knows_ she look gross. She can taste the wine from last night on her tongue, and smell his cologne in her hair. She’s not even dressed. It’s slightly scary, seeing that look in his eyes. She’s never felt more vulnerable, more naked, in her whole life.

“Nothing,” Jonah says quietly, allowing himself a small smile.

“Should we go to bed? Are you comfortable here?” Amy tries to sit up, lifting the upper half of her body and surveying the mess they’ve left in the living room.

His warm hand takes her by the arm, and pulls her gently back towards him, a tired smile on his lips. She laughs in defeat as she comes back to him.

“Mm. No,” he mumbles, still smiling, “I think we’re fine here.”

He pulls what little blanket he can access from here over the two of them, and already Amy feels sleep creeping back up on her- it’s immensely warm in here, and more comfortable than she’s been in a long while. 

His fingertips move rhythmically over her shoulder blades. His eyes are still open, but only just- the only way she can think to describe the expression on his face is  _peaceful,_ completely content holding her like she's precious china. He's beautiful. 

They lie like this for a while, struggling to keep their eyes open. Eventually his hands slow to a stop, and his chest moves with more weight. 

“Goodnight,” she finds herself saying, although it’s already a substantial amount lighter in the room than it was when she was waking up.

“Night, Amy.”

His breathing, too, is already heavier. Both of them lie with their eyes closed, sinking back into rest.

“Jonah?”

She’ll say it now, because there’s no way she’ll do it in the morning.

“Mm.”

“I like you.”

It sounds too obvious to her- they’ve just had sex on her couch and woken up together in the early hours of the morning. But it’s heavier than that, somehow, lingering in the air for a moment that feels like an age.

It’s every shared glance and moment alone. It’s mornings in the break room and the small freedom of leaving together in the evening. It’s joking around and arguing and talking every single day, becoming so naturally ingrained in her life that now she can’t imagine it without him.

“I like you too.”

He doesn’t ramble, or talk around it- in fact, he doesn’t _Jonah_ it at all. It’s simple, and honest, and perfect, feeling the words where she lies against his chest. Something about it makes her heart skip a beat, a harsh, hot pang in her chest. She feels like a teenager, whispering sweet nothings to her crush in the middle of the night. It’s magic.

The last thing Amy feels as she drifts into sleep is his lips, pressing a small kiss against her forehead.


End file.
